Wrong Man
by lostcowgirl
Summary: Greed and fear of competition can cause a man to commit despicable acts and lead to his feeling invulnerable. Coal mine owner Thomas Coleson thought it was the case for him until he threatened the peace of and endangered a member of the family of US Marshal turned judge Matt Dillon. This is a sequel to The Marshal in Dodge that introduced Trent Wellington.
1. Chapter 1 Incident on a Train

Chapter 1 – Incident on a Train

I left the Pinkerton office in Denver to briefly return to headquarters in Chicago, the city where I grew up. The home office wanted me to locate Warren Otterbein, a young man last seen or heard from six months ago. So far I'd had no luck with it. He came west in the spring of '94, leaving his father Collin's slaughterhouse and meat packing plant behind, to work directly with the meat while it was still on the hoof on a ranch 50 or so miles from Denver. Warren found working cattle wasn't the least bit fun. It was hard work. He wrote his parents he was coming home, notified the foreman of his plan to quit and collected his pay from the ranch owner before boarding an eastbound train, his ticket for Chicago in hand.

Robert, one of founder Allan Pinkerton's two sons, indicated I should start the investigation in Denver. When nothing turned up, he ordered me to report to him for further instructions. Robert Pinkerton and Collin Otterbein were fast friends since their school days. Hence he wanted the case solved. He considered me, with my ties to both cities, the best man to take sole charge of the case. I related the initial steps I took and my findings thus far to him, his brother William and Warren's parents Collin and Emily. The young Otterbein vanished after the train left Topeka, where a lad answering his description bought a sandwich, and before St. Louis when a conductor noticed his absence.

Warren Otterbein wasn't the only young man to disappear from west or eastbound trains in the past couple of years. Regular passengers with reason to travel back and forth between Missouri and Kansas told me about what had become a disturbingly regular occurrence. Older, often stronger uniformed men confronted young men and older boys traveling alone and forced them off the train. Only a mere handful returned to continue on to their destinations. I boarded a westbound train hoping, while dreading the imagined fate of possible victims, to witness such an incident for myself.

The train had left Lexington's small station on its journey west. It was slowing for the longer stop in Kansas City, Missouri when six men in blue policemen's uniforms entered the car. I'm 33 on my next birthday a few months hence and keep in shape because my job requires quick action. I reckon the two who came up to me and demanded identification with proof of employment requiring travel thought me young enough for their purposes. I keep my badge of office in my inner right coat pocket. I've perfected using my left hand to retrieve it while simultaneously raising the bottom right corner of my coat to reveal the revolver at my hip, my right hand resting on the butt ready for the first sign of a hostile move. It was enough for them to depart without an argument.

The two who accosted me and the other two pairs of alleged officers who entered the car confronted several young men. If they sensed a forthcoming attempt at resistance, one of the two poked a pistol in their victim's side before escorting him off the train. I noticed one victim in particular because he tried to grab something from his carpetbag in the overhead rack while the contents of his billfold distracted the men I perceived as fake cops. He wore a western-style jacket over a white shirt without a tie and dark trousers slipped over the tops of square toed, high-heeled boots. His dress, coupled with his hair color and height, brought to mind my boyhood hero US Marshal Matt Dillon.

I'd met Dillon in August of '78 thanks to my pop's multiple gifts in honor of my 16th birthday. The second time I saw him was ten years later while traveling to our Denver district office from our Chicago headquarters upon completing my apprenticeship. During that September '88 stop in Dodge City I learned that Mr. Dillon in the intervening years married the beautiful red-haired saloon owner Kitty Russell, adopted a brother and sister who displayed a remarkable resemblance to their adoptive parents and Mrs. Dillon had given birth to a boy in March of that year. Their older son, who like the daughter was in school during the half-hour layover, would be about this boy's age now.

Only two of the five boys taken off the train returned to their seats before we began moving toward the Kansas side of Kansas City. They appeared bruised and disheveled. The tall lad wasn't among them. On the pretext that I needed to stretch my legs and heed a call of nature I strolled past where he'd been seated. To the casual observer the passenger occupying that seat had temporarily wandered off. His carpetbag, a Stetson beside it, and ticket stub remained untouched. I glanced at the stub stuck between the frame and straw seatback. It said Dodge City. I decided, barring major events, to leave the train at Topeka to confer with my colleagues there.

I was back in my seat well before the train stopped for no more than five minutes to take on water between Kansas City and Lansing. I'd been keeping an eye on the missing boy's belongings but turned to look out my window when I heard the sound of a galloping horse. Train robbery is far less prevalent than 20 years ago, but not unheard of. A daring robber has been known to board a moving train from his horse, leaving the mount to his confederates care until after he's forced the engineer to bring the train to a halt. I braced myself for action when this particular rider matched his pace to the train, leaped from his horse and grabbed the handles of the boarding platform between my car and the next as we picked up speed. He stumbled into my car straight toward the seat last occupied by the boy headed for Dodge. It was he.

I waited while he caught his breath before sauntering over. He looked like he'd been in a fight, but was ready for another if necessary. I decided I'd best take things slowly and let him lead the conversation after I got it started.

"I happened to be watching from my window when you pulled that circus stunt," I said pointing toward my vacated spot across the aisle and down two seats. "You'd have died if anything went wrong. Name's Trent Wellington out of Denver," I added sticking out my hand, which he took. "Maybe it's the nature of my job, but your disappearance and reappearance got me curious."

"You revealed your identity. It would be impolite now that we shook hands not to tell you mine. Besides, I'm proud of the name my dad gave me, Dillon. I'm Nat Dillon of the Dodge City Dillons."

"Ah, that explains why you remind me of another Dillon. It also confirms what I inferred from your ticket stub after those men pulled you off this train in Kansas City. Your father was quite the hero to me when I was a couple of years younger than I'm guessing you are now. If he's Matt Dillon, your pop's the reason I earn my living the way I do."

He accepted I wasn't an outlaw because to his way of thinking no one outside the law would start out with Matt Dillon as his hero and do a 180. He owned to the relationship and I revealed I became a Pinkerton because I decided after watching his pop in action that being a US Marshal was just too chancy a job even for a lad seeking a career as opposite as possible from accountancy, my old man's profession. I even let on that reading dime novels about the great man was why my pop brought me with him to Dodge as a birthday present when Adams Express sent him to audit Nathan Burke's records back in '78.

"Had dad known about your reading habits, he'd have set you straight. He sure did me when I was ten. He caught me readin' one about him when we boarded the stage in Kansas City for home and then I made the mistake of mentioning another about Uncle Frank. Which one did you read to pass the time on the train from Chicago to Dodge?"

" _Matt Dillon and the Outlaw Siege_. Which books did your pop disapprove of? Also, who's Uncle Frank? Would I have heard of him?"

All of them, but especially when the man they're supposedly about, like him, never agreed to it. That day the novels were _Matt Dillon and the Double-cross_ and _Reardon's Revenge_. Uncle Frank was on the stage with us from Cottonwood Falls on. He's not really kin, just dad's best friend. My baby sister Maria's named after his murdered wife; the woman whose death he was avenging in the book."

I didn't leave the train in Topeka to meet with my colleagues or send any telegrams. A wire to Dodge City was no longer necessary. The other two could wait until I talked to Mr. Dillon. I also didn't pump Nat about being snatched and escaping. He'd only have to repeat it when we reached his home. Somehow talk of changing reading preferences as we grew into men and our reasons for admiring his father ate up the time. We pulled into the Dodge station as new friends, Nat's ordeal and any connection it had to my assignment relegated to the background. Minutes later his reunion with his parents and youngest sibling and their surprise at seeing me turned into a conversation as to how and why we came to be together.


	2. Chapter 2 A Narrow Escape

Chapter 2 – A Narrow Escape

AN: Thank you Ladykredzz, Beverly & tengland2 since I can't send my appreciation individually to guests on this site. Also if you're interested in history, Ham Bell was Ford County Sheriff & a Deputy US Marshal in May 1895 when this story is set while the LB claimed art gallery status in dry KS.

Matt and Miss Kitty requested I join them in their surrey for the trip from the train station to the center of town. Yeah, I'm on a first name basis with him now and she's Miss Kitty rather than Mrs. Dillon unlike when I was last in Dodge. The surrey was a concession to nearly four-year-old Maria's short legs and Doc Adams', who was also part of the reception committee, old ones. Either she had to run to keep up or her father would have to carry her. Likewise, the elderly physician, and de facto grandfather to the four Dillon children, was glad to be spared the relatively short walk. Matt drove us directly to the almost 71-year-old doctor's office so the physician could reassure himself and the young man's parents that Nat had suffered only cuts and bruises.

I was asked to join the family for a snack at the Long Branch where I'd meet the other two Dillon children. If Abby and Adam had their way they would have greeted Nat and I at the station but their parents insisted they go to school. Since I was also invited to supper at Delmonico's and to stay at their home Doc let me temporarily store my bag in his office.

Since school wouldn't let out immediately I chose to pursue what lines of inquiry I could during the little bit of free time that remained. I was just leaving Doc's to confer with the current marshal, Lionel Walker, at the jailhouse when that very man spotted me. I'd met Lionel briefly during my last stop in Dodge. Since taking up my post as a full-fledged Pinkerton in his native Denver I've come to know his former colleagues on the police force and his family. Matter of fact his partner during his detective days, Trevor Johnson, is my brother-in-law. Trevor's sister Amanda became my wife this past October.

"Trent Wellington, what brings you to Dodge? What is it, five years since you were last here?"

"Seven actually, Lionel. I'm on a case that may also involve Nat Dillon. Connecting with him on the train caused me to stay on board rather than get off in Topeka. I've things to discuss with you."

"Funny about that. I'm dealing with what might interest you as well. Three telegrams for me and one for Matt arrived concerning that young man. I'll bet there's a connection between them and what happened on the train."

Neither of us had a chance to say more because at that moment Matt, Miss Kitty, Maria and Nat joined us at the base of Doc's stairs across the alley from what's become since Kansas went dry the Long Branch Restaurant and Art Gallery. Lionel waited until we were inside the one-time saloon before he handed the four telegrams to Matt. His former boss read them out loud since they concerned all of us.

"Lionel's reply to Joe Phy's wire and Marshal Ed Pomeroy returning Phy's horse should have satisfied him enough not to press charges. We'll talk about why you took the horse later, son, when we plan our strategy," Matt added, looking directly at his oldest child.

"I had no choice, Dad, Nat blurted despite his father's glare. "I had to get into Kansas quick. Trent knows why."

"I said later." Matt repeated his earlier admonition, his tone brooking no argument. "This whole situation doesn't feel right. Who filed the complaint? When was the trial? How does Trent's investigation fit into it? Senior Marshal Glen Paxton at the regional headquarters in St. Louis can supply some answers to my questions concerning the people issuing the warrant and the men serving it."

Matt's long strides took him to the telegraph office while Lionel went to tell Doc about the telegrams and this evening's altered plans. He also grabbed the carpetbags Nat and I left there and used the telephone on Doc's roll top desk to contact his wife Eileen, the Dodge City telephone operator. She, he informed us, promised to reach Ford County's duly elected sheriff Ham Bell, who Lionel swore in as a Deputy US Marshal when Festus retired, and let Abby and Adam Dillon know to come to Matt's office in the courthouse from school instead of the Long Branch.

We waited for Doc but not Matt before moving on. Our group matched Doc's pace down the boardwalk as we made our way to the courthouse for a very private initial strategy session. There was a lot of information to gather before I accompanied the family to their ranch six miles outside the city limits at the northeastern edge of the township. Abby and Adam, now that the school day was over, met us at the courthouse entrance. Sheriff Bell caught up in the lobby before we reached Matt's office.

Five minutes later Matt joined us at his office table. Miss Kitty, Adam and Maria sat on one side. Lionel, Nat and I sat across from them while Bell was at the foot and Matt at the head.

"We can't wait for Paxton and Pomeroy, Paxton's top deputy, to reply," Matt began. We have to assume their response will confirm details of what Nat and Trent tell us. Son, what happened?"

"We were about a mile from the Kansas City, Missouri station when a half dozen men in blue police uniforms swarmed into the passenger car I was in," Nat began, instinctively knowing where to start his recounting of events. "I put what you've taught me over the years into practice dad. I watched them closely. They worked in pairs, only bothering young, healthy men in their late teens to at most early 30s sitting alone. By the time they finished with Trent I learned they only got rough with those who failed to produce their billfolds immediately. The thugs chose only a few to hold at gunpoint on the platform between the two passenger cars."

"Trent, does that agree with what you saw?"

"Yeah, Matt. I've a hunch that pattern might explain why the boy I was hired to find disappeared. Those who could prove employment or close connections to obviously wealthy eastern families were let be after the initial questioning, their billfolds returned. Only the physically strongest among the rest were escorted off the train when it came to a complete stop. Before you ask, I didn't try to stop them because I was outnumbered and didn't want to blow my cover."

"Trent didn't say, but I got the feelin' he woulda done something if he'd been sure I was kin to you. I'd sized up the two men built like bulls who approached me so I handed over my billfold before they asked. My mistake was thinking I distracted them enough by cooperating that I had time to reach my gun and turn it on them. It cost me several vicious slaps to the face, a kick to the shin and a gun pressed into my ribs hard enough to cause pain. I was one of the five they took away."

"How'd you escape?"

"Dad, I waited for my chance, just like you taught me. They took us to a large office in this warehouse. A man about your age but shorter and with grayer hair and dressed like you do for court sat behind a desk. We were arranged around the room so he could easily see everyone except the two guards behind him and another by the door. The man asked each of us a bunch of questions startin' with the two smallest. They couldn't have been more than 15 or 16. He told them they'd be put back on the train before it left. I knew I was one of the three he decided were worth keeping when he gave his next order.

"Strip them. We want to be sure they're not concealing anything before we provide them with their work clothes," the man behind the desk told his scumbags.

"The two that held me shifted their grip slightly so one of them could take away my jacket. I used his movement to elbow him in the ribs and twist away enough to plant my fist on the other one's chin. Then I ran out the door before the two behind their boss and the one at the door could stop me."

"That was quick thinking Nat. I'm proud of you. How'd you get back on the train?" Matt asked, smiling at the cleverness of his eldest despite the circumstances. "Is this where Joe Phy's horse comes in?"

"Yeah. I knew I needed a horse if I was to have any chance of getting away. I didn't know where I was in relation to the train station since we'd been thrown inside a closed wagon and not let out until we were in the warehouse. I spotted a saddled horse outside a tobacco shop and wrote a quick note using the paper and pencil in my shirt pocket. I hoped the man I saw coming out the door at least knew the owner. 'Use this to contact Dodge City for payment or trade!' I shouted as I tossed the note with your name and the ranch location to him and rode off to the west. He must be the one who sent you that telegram, Lionel. I finally found the tracks and caught up with the train as it pulled out from a water stop east of Lansing, matched my speed to it and leaped aboard from the horse."

It was my turn to continue our tale. I told how and why I noticed Nat. Given my reason for paying attention to him and the attack, it was no surprise he and I struck up a conversation that continued until we climbed off the train together. Whoever the man in Kansas City was, it was obvious he hadn't lost interest in using Nat for the same nefarious purpose that led to Warren Otterbein's disappearance six months ago. However, he made a serious mistake by choosing the son of a former US Marshal, now federal judge. He compounded that mistake by claiming Nat was found guilty of horse theft.

"Paxton and Pomeroy will only confirm my suspicions. No need to wait for Paxton to reply or Pomeroy to arrive to put a plan in motion," Matt continued. "Everyone in this room and Breck, once Nat talks to him, will play a role. Let's get started."


	3. Chapter 3 Implementing the Plan

Chapter 3 – Implementing the Plan

That first night Nat slept in his room next to Adam's and I slept in the guest room across the hall. Matt, Miss Kitty, Abby and Maria were in the other wing, the one closer to the barn. Although the bed was among the most comfortable I'd ever spent the night on, I expected to be the first one awake. However, I slept sounder and much longer than I thought I would. When I padded out of the bathroom with its hot and cold taps, the wondrous aroma of breakfast wafted to my nostrils from the room next to it. By the time I emerged fully presentable from my bedroom everyone except Nat was in the kitchen.

The breakfast of flapjacks, biscuits, taters, eggs, ham, bacon and yes steak was making its way to the table, although Sharon Goode, the ranch cook and housekeeper, was still at the stove fixing vittles to order while everyone else carried full plates to their places at the large table. Miss Kitty had previously set platters, bowls, cups, glasses and utensils on a long sideboard so family and guests like me, except the youngest, could help themselves. She began to rise, but Matt put a hand on her shoulder and stood instead. He never quite got away from his chair because Nat entered at that moment to show me how meals are handled in the Dillon household. He, like me, wasn't on ranch time.

Nat asked how I wanted my eggs, if I wanted steak and if so how I wanted it cooked. Then he let Sharon know his and my choices. Since we were the last, she also put her own eggs on. Although he was just ahead of us, her husband Albert, the foreman, who I was told shared an incredible appetite with his father Chester, Matt's first assistant in Dodge, set his heaping plate down on the table and immediately began filling another for his wife. Abby fed the Goode's partially weaned six-month-old Carolyn her porridge until the baby's parents took over while Kitty made sure Maria's plateful was cut into bite-sized pieces. I sat at a spot apparently reserved for me at the foot of the family table between Adam and Nat, who sat across from each other like they did before Nat left for Princeton. Maria sat at the opposite end between her parents so either one could help the little girl if needed. Sharon, the baby now in her arms, sat between Abby and Kitty with Albert across from her between Matt and Festus.

It was the last meal either Nat or I ate in the main house. By dinner the table would revert to how it was while Nat was away at school. Adam would have no one directly opposite unless his godfather Doc Adams was visiting. The old man had his own room next to Nat's since at his age he always stayed overnight whenever he stopped by to visit his family. To the Dillon children he was grandpa and a father figure to their parents. It made me realize how much I missed my own family meals. I left Chicago for Denver in '78 when I completed my apprenticeship and stint as a junior detective.

Having eaten our fill by seven, Nat and I walked with Festus and Albert toward the bunkhouse. It was just past the barn, up against the slope that led to their neighbor's outbuildings. The cookhouse, built into the side of the hill, stood halfway up it. Jethro Digby the cook for both ranches whenever more than the permanent staff was needed swore the location helped keep the place cooler. The rest of the time Digby, who lived in the O'Brien's barn at the bottom of the hill, cooked and performed general chores for them and their foreman, Wade Cross. Between it and the cookhouse was a similar bunkhouse built on a flat piece of ground that lay just over the crest.

You might say the buildings of the two ranches mirrored each other except that Doctor Newly O'Brien and his family's home was two-story rather than one story with two wings off a central great room and kitchen. The O'Brien house also had fewer bedrooms since Doc Newly, as he was known to most, and Paula, Dodge City founder Bear Sanderson's daughter, were parents to only John and Liam. Wade Cross' house was likewise smaller than Albert and Sharon's home because he and his wife's kids were grown. Also, it was built on flat ground between the O'Brien bunkhouse and barn rather than atop the small hill on the far side of the Dillon's barn.

I was so taken with Nat pointing out all the buildings I hardly noticed that Festus veered off toward the barn, where he has his rooms, to continue his part in Matt's big plan. It began last night with Albert keeping the hands occupied in the bunkhouse so they wouldn't notice Nat and I arrived with the rest of the family. Festus was the one who came up with a story to explain Nat and I showing up so Albert could introduce us to the four hands in the bunkhouse as two newly hired drifters.

"This here's Trent Wellington and Nat Baker," Albert said, giving them Nat's name before his adoption at age ten. "Mr. Dillon thought a couple extra riders could help speed up the roundup and brandin'. They just got here from Colorado and was told in town there might be work here. Make 'em welcome."

"Well that ain't quite right Mr. Goode. I'm from Oklahoma, just south of the Kansas border by Coffeyville. I come up from there and met Trent in town. He's the one from Colorado," Nat provided for anyone who was interested.

"Call me Albert. Even my pa ain't Mr. Goode. Anyone who's been around Dodge long enough knows him as Chester. The only mister on this ranch is Mr. Dillon."

As the new hires Nat and I got to pick from the remaining horses in the corral. The two that supposedly belonged to us were on loan from a rancher on the other side of town. They were in stalls so Festus could give them grain to make up for our supposed hard ride to get us up at the main house at dawn. The Dillon family's personal mounts, the buggy, surrey and plow horses and the mule Festus called Ruth, along with a couple milk cows, occupied most of the remaining stalls in the big barn.

I've no idea how he did it, but Festus had managed to get a bridle on a sorrel for me while our bunkmates were saddling up. I'd lived in Denver long enough that I was quite capable of handling my own mount. I only hoped nobody noticed I hadn't the least idea how to rope anything, stationary or moving. Nat whistled softly for his buckskin, but pretended he'd merely chosen the large animal to complement his tall frame. He began saddling him until one of the temporary hands objected.

"Festus, Albert, ain't that one of the boss' private stock? It looks to me like the younger match to Mr. Dillon's own mount. Ain't they off limits to mere hands?"

"If'n yah looked, Butters is in the barn," Festus replied, although the horse was a deliberate imposter. "Reckon the boy kin ride his look alike," Festus told the fair-haired slim youth of 20, effectively silencing all objections.

Nothing much happened after we seven, leaving Festus behind, rode out across the prairie toward an area on the Dillon property that resembled a campsite where two more hands waited. There was a temporary enclosure consisting of wooden posts set 12 feet apart connected by sturdy ropes. The rope was looped rather than tightly tied over one post so it could be easily used as the fulcrum of a gate to accommodate the yet to be branded calves. Albert, in deference to my lack of experience, assigned me to keeping track of the numbers. He let Nat show off first his roping and then his branding skills, once the irons were hot enough. These were skills he claimed he gained from working the past couple of years in Oklahoma. His obvious prowess made the other hands both more and less suspicious as to why he was signed on so sudden. Whatever their thoughts, we all worked together until it was time to eat.

The campfire doubled as a temporary cook stove. Albert had draped a pot of beans Digby gave him over his saddle horn when we left. It now hung above the fire on a spit made from a couple of notched sticks and a sturdy third one fitted snuggly into the notches between the other two. Dishing out the beans was another of my jobs. The branding irons were again thrust into the fire so they'd be ready once our quick meal was over and the fixings stowed. Albert explained he was sticking around until he was sure we all worked well together.

I'd marked off the 25th calf of the afternoon around three and looked up from my small notebook to see a prison wagon approaching. As I followed its progress a rider galloped past it and headed directly toward our camp. He reined up just outside our makeshift enclosure and dismounted.

"What's got yah all fired up Ham?" Albert asked the man with a tin star pinned to his vest Nat and I had last seen in Matt's courthouse office. "We ain't seen no signs of rustlin'."

"Lionel sent me out after two men wanted for stealin' horses from Colorado all the way to Missouri and sellin' them in Oklahoma, Albert. From the descriptions they match the two Matt just hired on, but the only solid evidence is against the younger one, a kid really. We got a wire this mornin' on the one he left in the your boss' barn. I'll take these two off you hands," he said drawing his pistol, pointing at me then Nat.

Nat strolled to my side as everyone else cleared away to give Ham Bell a clear shot at us should we choose to run. We both stood stock still for a second or two as if deciding whether to resist or not. Both of us were heeled. Nat, following his father's instructions, had his gun belt with the Peacemaker in the holster strapped around his waist. In the end, we threw our guns on the ground and put up our hands, accepting our arrest just as the prison wagon pulled up.

"We'll take the kid off your hands Sheriff," one of the thugs, a bull of a man a tad over six feet and dressed like his equally burly yet slightly shorter partner, announced. "We're here to see he serves out his time he skipped out on in Missouri."

"Sorry, can't do that. He's got to stand trial for a new crime first."

"You got that good a knowledge of the law?" the other prison guard quipped. "You ain't nothin' but a fella good with a gun and popular enough to git hisself elected."

"True, as far as being Ford County Sheriff goes, but I'm also a duly sworn in Deputy United States Marshal," Ham replied. "I'm on good terms with all my constituents, especially those who do know about the law like the man who appointed me, US Marshal for Kansas Lionel Walker, and the man he replaced, now Federal and State Circuit Judge Matt Dillon. Oh, in case you're wonderin', it's the same Matt Dillon whose land we're on."


	4. Chapter 4 Phase 2 Gathering Together

Chapter 4 – Phase 2: Gathering Together

Ham Bell, backed by an unarmed Albert, stood his ground. The six cowboys if push came to shove would back their foreman, but saw no reason to do anything more overt than keep to the same side of the invisible line formed between the local law and outsiders concerning a couple of, as they suspected, outlaws. The two with the prison wagon saw how things were. They conceded round one and turned back the way they'd come. Nat and I, our mounts flanked by Ham and Albert and our hands cuffed in front of us to confirm our arrest, followed less than a minute later. The cowboys went back to work.

When we got to town we saw the two men from Missouri had stopped their wagon in front of the courthouse, waiting for us. We rode past to alight at the back of the building by the entrance to Ham's office and the county's jail cells. The two from the wagon followed on foot. I had the feeling our fake prison guards were ready to make another attempt at Nat, but were thwarted when they saw the office we headed toward wasn't empty. Lionel Walker, Matt Dillon and Nat's part-time employer and future law partner Breckinridge Taylor were discussing jurisdiction and evidence while awaiting our arrival.

"Now that everyone's here, I'm ready to hear all sides," Matt stated as he looked up. "Marshal, what have you got?"

"Judge, you've seen the horse and the replies to the telegrams sent. I'd be surprised if you didn't agree there's enough for at least one of them to stand trial."

"I'd have to disagree," Taylor countered. "There's nothing concrete tying Mr. Wellington to stolen horses or anything else anywhere in Kansas. It's my contention he should be released immediately."

"I concur. He's also not included in the warrant the prison guards presented. Do you gentlemen have any interest in him?" Matt asked the two out of state representatives.

"No we ain't, Judge," the taller one replied. "We just want the kid released to us so we can get him back where he belongs."

"By the kid, I assume you mean Mr. Baker, under the alias you provided for him. Funny that he or you chose Dillon. Whatever his name, you'll have to wait. I'm ordering him held over for trial. Although he was taken into custody a few miles outside township limits but well within Ford County, I'm remanding him to the cells in back of the marshal's office. This case falls under federal jurisdiction because the charge involves crossing state lines while engaged in horse theft. There's no conflict with local jurisdiction since Sheriff Bell made the arrest as a Deputy United Stares Marshal on information from his superior. Based on the Missouri warrants, I'll allow that state's representatives to show the horse was stolen while the defendant was escaping custody. The prisoner Nat Baker, also known as Nathaniel Dillon, will be tried in my court as soon as all witnesses are available. Mr. Wellington, you're free to go. Any objections Mr. Taylor?"

"Yes, Judge, with one exception. I require Mr. Wellington's testimony as part of my defense of Mr. Baker. I'd like assurances that he will remain in town."

"Hey, wait a minute!" the shorter guard interjected. "Judge, how can you try our prisoner when he and a witness for him are workin' fer you?"

"The man has a point," Paul Skidmore, the Ford County prosecutor, who of course knew Nat, added as he stepped into the room. "Have you fired both these men?" he asked nodding toward Nat and I.

"Yeah, when Sheriff Bell asked me where he might find them. I hadn't gotten around to telling them. There's no longer an apparent reason to recluse myself."

"Good, I've made arrangements for Marshal Pomeroy and young Baker's accuser Joe Phy to come by train from Kansas City to testify about the stolen horse. You guards are suitable representatives of the Missouri prison system since you brought a warrant to take him back," Skidmore concluded.

"The trial will take place in two days at nine in the morning in my courtroom. Anything else?"

"Yeah," Taylor replied. "I'd like bail to be set for my client. I want Nat Baker released to my custody."

"Sorry. He's a flight risk. Marshal, lock Mr. Baker up. You might also confine Mr. Wellington to a cell as a material witness."

There was nothing left for me to do but walk along with Lionel and the still handcuffed Nat around the corner and down several blocks to the jailhouse on Front Street. The two guards left us at Prosecutor Skidmore's office but defense attorney Taylor stuck with us all the way to the jail.

Two nights on a cell cot doesn't lend itself to comfortable sleeping or faith in a complex plan, but by the time Friday morning arrived we had the strategy for our part in Matt's plan to keep his son safe worked out. So as not to rouse suspicion Miss Kitty and any of the rest of the extended Dillon family made no attempt see Nat. Matt also stayed away. He didn't try to learn the details of our defense and steered clear of Mr. Skidmore and the prison guards. I've no idea when Skidmore managed to talk with Pomeroy and Phy, but I'm certain he made sure he knew what their testimony would be.

Nat elected to forego a jury trial so witnesses weren't made to wait outside until called. There was plenty of room for us to sit in the courtroom since this trial was purposely not publicized. As far as anybody in and around Dodge City who wasn't privy to the events that took place before and after our arrival knew Nat Dillon had not been on the train met by his family because of unforeseen delays concerning school. Despite ample choices, the defense witnesses like myself took seats behind the defense table where Nat, with Lionel directly behind him, sat beside his lawyer Breck, short for Breckinridge, Taylor. Likewise, prosecution witnesses found seats behind Paul Skidmore.

We all rose as Matt entered and sat when he sat. There was a bit of a flurry as the two guards tried to enter while still carrying their weapons. Festus, who'd come into town Wednesday night for temporary deputy duty, stopped them from entering the courtroom until they agreed to surrender those guns and the cuffs and shackles they carried. Finally we were ready to proceed.

"The prosecution may begin," Matt proclaimed. "Mr. Skidmore, call your first witness."


	5. Chapter 5 Phase 3 The Trial

Chapter 5 – Phase 3: The Trial

AN: Lamblin Irwin was the Chief of Police in KC, MO from May 1894 into Nov 1896. For those who follow legal procedure, this orchestrated, unpublicized trial is comparable to moot court in law school. Those participants who traveled from KC have no idea there's a relationship between the defendant & the judge except the surname on the warrant is the same as the judge, a not uncommon surname.

Lionel was the first to swear on the Bible and take his seat in the witness chair. He didn't have much to say except that based on the telegrams he received and a couple of old circulars he asked his deputy Ham to bring in the prisoner and possibly the man he met up with in Dodge. Then he sent his own wires, which is why the Marshal based in St. Louis and man whose horse was stolen came here together from Kansas City. However, after all that was set in motion it turned out he was mistaken about the identity of the horses that were ridden to the Dillon barn, although they still could have been stolen. Breck Taylor might have asked him about how he knew where to find us but didn't.

Taylor didn't ask Hamilton Bell much beyond whether we put up any resistance once he caught up to us at the ranch. He let stand that the Ford County Sheriff simply acted as a Deputy US Marshal on his boss Marshal Lionel Walker's instructions to pick up a couple of men who'd possibly stolen horses over several states, the latest being in Missouri. Like with Lionel, Breck reserved the right to recall Ham.

The next to be called was a man of medium age, height and build who owned a shop that catered to the theater and those invited to fancy dress balls. He and his wife of some 12 years lived on the Missouri side of Kansas City next to a playhouse. Their large home served as a boardinghouse to the traveling players booked into the neighboring building. It was this man's horse that Nat Dillon appropriated in his mad dash to cross into Kansas and catch the train he'd been snatched from.

"Mr. Phy, is it your contention that on the date in question a young man mounted your horse as you exited your friend the tobacconist's shop and rode off at a gallop toward the Kansas side of the city? If your answer is yes, is the youth in this courtroom?"

The witness hesitated, casting his eye several times on Judge Dillon, before answering by pointing at Nat seated at the defense table and replying, "Yes, he's sitting right over there!"

"I have nothing further," Prosecutor Paul Skidmore said. "Do you have anything to ask this witness, Mr. Taylor?"

That was all the invitation Breck Taylor needed. He rose to his feet to rapidly approach the witness chair and immediately went on the attack.

"Mr. Phy, you've just pointed to my client as the person who commandeered your horse in front of the tobacco shop. However, there's more to it than that. Didn't he shout an explanation, toss something toward you as he raced off and didn't you act upon the information contained in what he said and the note he flung toward you?"

"Yes, but I didn't entirely trust him. After all, he'd just stolen my horse. I sent a telegram to the nearest peace officer to the address in the note, Marshal Walker, the first man to give his testimony. He confirmed the lad's identity and unblemished reputation of the ranch that would provide payment by cash or trade. It's possible someone else might have seen what happened and reported it," Phy added as an unsolicited comment in an effort to be thorough.

Breck again stopped asking questions before putting a dent in the man's testimony. Instead he allowed Skidmore to call his next witness, United States Marshal Ed Pomeroy.

"Marshal, since your assigned territory is Missouri from St. Louis west to the border with Kansas, how did you come to be in Kansas where you retrieved, per your testimony, Mr. Phy's horse?"

"The Independence office received a wire that a notorious robber who escaped Leavenworth was last seen heading east. The man in charge of the regional office in St. Louis Sr. United States Marshal Glen Paxton dispatched me to help in whichever way I could. I checked with the senior deputy marshal in charge in Independence to learn the fugitive had been spotted and captured in Kansas City by local police. I rode my horse to that city where I took charge of the prisoner from the newly appointed Police Chief Lamblin Irwin, who loaned me a police horse for the man in custody to ride. I completed my assignment by returning the felon to his Leavenworth cell and riding back to Kansas City."

"That explains why you were in Kansas. It still doesn't answer my question about Mr. Phy's horse and how you came to return it. Please proceed."

"I was headin' back to Kansas City, leadin' the prisoner's mount, when I spotted a saddled horse that had been rode hard somewhere just northeast of Lansing. I backtracked to look for the owner but saw no sign of him by the time I reached the train tracks I planned to ride east along. That's when I stopped to look through the saddlebags for anything that would clue me into who owned him. There were a bunch of papers with Joe Phy's name on 'em. When I dropped off the borrowed horse with Chief Irwin he gave me directions to Phy's place."

"When you asked after the horse, had the Kansas City Police received any complaint or been alerted about one having been filed by the local US Marshal's office of it having been stolen?" Taylor began when he took over questioning Marshal Pomeroy. "Did Mr. Phy say anything about it?"

"Phy told me he saw no need to rush to report it once he received conformation that the ranch was real and reputedly fair and honest. Once I returned his horse to him, he saw no need to register a complaint."

Having called all the prosecution witnesses except the prison guards, Paul Skidmore finally brought them to the stand. Price and Tyson swore they were there to pick up a prisoner who'd escaped while being taken from his trial to a prison wagon that would bring him to where he'd serve out his sentence. Neither knew the nature of the conviction when their superior gave them a warrant with orders to pursue the prisoner to his most likely destination. Since neither could read and they weren't told the contents of the warrant, only where and to whom to deliver it, there was no way for them to learn it directly. However, from all they heard, it didn't surprise them the conviction had been for horse theft.

By now my rumbling stomach made me wonder if Judge Dillon would continue the case or adjourn for dinner. My answer came seconds later when Miss Kitty entered the courtroom. Her husband immediately called an hour's recess. He assigned the three local lawmen in the room to keep watch to make sure nobody from the trial wandered off to discuss the case. They directed us to the Long Branch, a place more easily controlled than Delmonico's since Mrs. Dillon remained the primary owner. Festus ate with the two guards and Joe Phy. Sheriff Bell joined Marshal Pomeroy, Breck and I at another table while Lionel was at a third with Nat and Skidmore. Matt, Miss Kitty and Maria sat with Adam and Abby, who relished the chance to eat a noon meal with their parents rather than at school, alone by the stairs at the table I remembered from the incredible events surrounding my 16th birthday celebration on my first visit to Dodge in '78. Miss Kitty, the sole owner for most of the past 25 years, made sure we were the only customers with access to the building and the buffet of hot and cold food.

I was the first defense witness when the trial resumed. In the course of questioning I was forced to drop the charade that I was a drifter seeking employment wherever I could find it. However, while describing all I saw during the train ride west I never mentioned the case that had put me on that train nor did Paul Skidmore in his cross-examination ask me about it. I spoke of the uniformed men invading the train to confront young men traveling alone, the removal of five of them, Nat among them, and the lad's dramatic return to the moving train by leaping from a horse keeping pace with it. Skidmore also didn't ask if I had any knowledge about his using the name Baker.

Nat when called repeated the story he'd told us the other day upon our arrival. Again Skidmore during cross-examination asked nothing that would undermine the lad's sworn testimony. The case against Nat was revealed in seemingly open court with only a few more details to take into account. Breck began this final stage by recalling Lionel Walker to the stand.

"Marshal, you based your request to arrest Nat Baker, also known as Nathaniel Dillon, on two things, but ignored the obvious one, the warrant presented by the two prison guards. Instead you focused on his resemblance to a horse thief on a wanted poster in your possession for at least a year. Is that correct?"

"Yes. It gave me a plausible reason for arrest and trial. The poster description was vague enough that it could apply to Baker/Dillon. It also gave me reason to send for Joe Phy and Ed Pomeroy as witnesses and let Paul, Prosecutor Skidmore, authorize paying the cost of bringing them here. Oh, one other thing, Judge Dillon, so as to be as thorough as possible, insisted prior to setting a trial date on telegraphing Sr. Marshal Paxton to verify the existence of any trials of anyone meeting Nat's description in the last six months in Missouri, the surrounding states or territories and those surrounding each of them. Sr. Marshal Paxton's reply arrived yesterday. There were none."

"My ruling is based on the following facts that arose from the testimony presented," Matt began as soon as the last witness returned to his seat. "No complaints were filed against the accused. Nat Baker, also known as Nathaniel Dillon, and Trent Wellington's testimony the defendant could not have been where he was allegedly convicted before being forcibly removed from the train they were both on as corroborated by the telegram from Sr. Marshal Paxton. Therefore the two prison guards are to be taken into custody as material witnesses until it can be proven, with or without their assistance, that these events were not the result of a possible criminal conspiracy. Also, no case has been proven against Nathaniel Dillon, the name on the warrant. I'll see you Marshal Pomeroy, Mr. Phy, Mr. Trent and especially you, Mr. Dillon, in my office. There's a lot to clear up. Court's adjourned."


	6. Chapter 6 Phase 4 Setting a Trap

Chapter 6 – Phase 4: Setting a Trap

I felt like we'd pulled off a fast one. The trial was manipulated to achieve the desired outcome yet it proceeded in such a way that nobody could be accused of perjury or prejudice. I also knew as I sat with the others in Judge Matt Dillon's office that the trial was only the beginning. I didn't understand how his mind worked back when I was 16 and I don't understand it now. All I know is I want to help him yet also solve my case and hopefully find Warren Otterbein's still alive. Matt wants to see justice and the law triumph over this latest batch of spoilers who nearly did and still could cost him his oldest child.

I looked around the room as I entered. That oldest child's mother was hugging him while the 18-year-old tried desperately to hide his embarrassment. Miss Kitty, like all mothers, didn't seem to understand being hugged by your mom in public, especially with strangers present, undermines your status as a grown man returning home after being away for most of a year. I could tell his younger sisters and brother clinging to him didn't bother him as much. However, the fact his nearly 15-year-old sister had become significantly curvier during his absence caused a certain reticence.

"Kitty, kids," Matt intoned from where he sat on the corner of his large desk, "Let him breathe. Looks like everyone's here," he added as he looked around the room. "Let's get down to business."

That was the signal for everyone to take a seat. His clerk must have gathered seven of them into a semicircle while we were busy in the courtroom. We sat, our eyes focused on the man before us. As he began to talk, Maria, who'd turn four in a couple of weeks and already bored, crawled from her chair between her mother and sister to her mother's lap before returning to her own chair for a few seconds. She then squirmed in the opposite direction to sit fleetingly on her sister's lap, crept back over her chair to the right past her mama to settle on her brother Nat's lap. Adam on the far left squirmed but managed at the mature age of seven to remain seated. I sat to Nat's immediate right with Phy next to me and Pomeroy to his right.

"Joe Phy," Matt began. "I don't blame you for never wanting to see me again after Elkader. However, humiliating you 25 years ago so you'd leave town was the only way I could arrest Carey Post. Until he returned I couldn't let anyone living there other than Cicero Grimes know I was the real US Marshal. My son borrowing your horse lets me both apologize for back then and thank you for your role in today's trial. By the way, you did a good job playing marshal back then."

"No need to apologize Judge Dillon. You very probably saved my life in Elkader. However, I confess my playacting and encounter with you then is why I wired the marshal's office rather than your ranch. Your son looks enough like you that it caused never forgotten memories of that day from the back of mind. Then, when I saw you in court, I didn't know what to think. Now that I know your reasons both then and now I'm relieved."

While I now understood Phy's reaction while on the stand I was still anxious to learn how Matt pulled off the slight of hand with the horses and what that brain of his had come up with to trap the crafty scalawag behind the scheme that began with this trial. Pomeroy was thinking along the same lines.

"Matt, before you rope me into the next phase of your devious plan with this Pinkerton fella on the other side of Phy, I need you to clear somethin' up fer me," Pomeroy interjected. "You knew those two yahoos on the wanted posters were a decoy. I get that. Not many know they were already taken into custody. What I want to know is how'd you make it look like your son and Trent rode their horses hard to your ranch and yet made it seem like none was missin'?"

"A rancher, Lee Prentice, about 20 miles west of Dodge, felt he owed me a return favor and happened to be in town. I saw him when I came out of the telegraph office that day. He agreed to lead three horses to the livery here. Lee met up with Festus, who I told about the plan when we got home from Delmonico's, when the moon set. My deputy turned hired hand rode my horse. The two ridden by Lee and Festus to the ranch became Nat and Trent's spent horses in our barn. Lee left for home on a mare from the corral. Festus rode his mule back to town. He was back in time for breakfast having put his mule, my horse and Lee's third mount, a lookalike gelding to Nat's horse, in the stalls. Nobody would notice without looking closely that he'd switched Nat's buckskin with Lee's gelding."

"What was the favor? It must have been quite a doozy for him to do so much for you."

"It was. I saved him from being murdered and facing a false murder charge 24 years ago by getting his friends to agree to accuse him of everything from forgery to horse theft to keep him here until the man who wanted him so bad gave up on finding him."

I gotta say that story's typical of Matt Dillon. He's not one to stand by and let a miscarriage of justice stand if he can help it. It's why honest folks like Prentice and his friends would risk their livelihoods and reputation, even their lives, for him. I suspect they were doing it as much for their marshal back then as we are now for our judge. We all listened to him outline our roles in the next part of his plan. If it meant meeting our deaths, so be it.


	7. Chapter 7 Phase 5 The Bait

Chapter 7 – Phase 5: The Bait

The son of the couple in whose Princeton home Nat Dillon resides while attending school and the lad from western Kansas have a lot in common despite the fact they come from different areas of the country and have disparate career goals. Besides attending Princeton University, both take additional courses at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, Nat in law and Jim Crawford in medicine. Additionally, both professions require practical experience beyond academics in order to be licensed. Therefore Jim asked Nat to sound out his grandpa and when Doc Adams accepted him Jim turned down the Crawford family physician's offer. While Nat already clerks for Breckinridge Taylor, who'd just successfully defended him in the mock trial, Jim has yet to begin the internship he wanted as a way to both experience what life is like for his friend, the only non-easterner among his parents' three handpicked student boarders, and determine if he should practice medicine on the high plains.

Jim still faced another couple of finals and completing his more complex travel arrangements when Nat boarded the train for home. The delay temporarily kept him out of danger from whatever this conspiracy was, though traveling at the same time might have provided protection because they'd have sat together. In Matt's mind Jim's lack of knowledge of life beyond the east coast, especially the disappearance of young men like him over the past couple of years made him the perfect bait. He set about to arrange this as best he could to both catch those we were after and protect the Crawford lad.

Matt decided to contact Gil Clayborne, the man who opposed Nat and Abby's adoption to placate his domineering mother. Gil's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Quentin Clayborne, had disowned their daughter, his older sister Susan Clayborne, when Susan moved west to Joplin, Missouri and married Paul Baker. Despite cutting off contact with their offspring, the grandparents kept track of Susan's children before and after the traffic accident that left Nat and Abby parentless because they wanted to control the orphans' trust fund.

Unlike their grandparents, Nat and Abby's uncle's connections to folks in Dodge began well before the custody hearing and any concurrent business dealings Quentin Clayborne had with Bear Sanderson. Gil, now head of his father's business empire, had formed a friendship with former gunsmith and part-time deputy now fulltime doctor Newly O'Brien's during the year they spent at the same engineering school. Clayborne had since become a Dillon family friend as well. A couple telephone calls was all Matt needed to persuade the wealthy Philadelphia industrialist to rearrange his business dealings in St. Louis to allow him to accompany Jim there. Then we'd take charge of keeping an eye on the lad.

So it was that on Monday morning May 20th 1895 a group assembled on the Dodge City train depot eastbound platform. It was early enough that Abby and Adam could watch Matt, Nat, Marshal Pomeroy, the two prison guards turned semi-prisoners, Joe Phy and I board the train for St. Louis and still be only a couple hours late to school. Matt, remained on the platform as long as he could, holding Maria in his arms while Kitty continued to object like she had since after the trial Friday.

"Matt, it's bad enough Nat's part of this. At least he's wearing a pistol and knows what to expect. His friend Jim has no idea his first trip west is anything other than safe. Neither do his parents thanks to you! Why didn't you give them the choice? Doc's waited eight years since training Newly. He can wait until you clear this mess up before beginning to train another doctor. Who knows how long he'll have to wait if things don't go according to your plan. Some random boy traveling alone could serve just as easily as bait. We'd feel bad about it, but at least there'd be no direct connection."

"Now Kitty, using Crawford's the only way to be sure someone they're likely to want is on the train while we're there to stop them. You know I'll do my best to make sure nothing happens to Nat or Jim."

"Don't you now Kitty me, Matt Dillon! I've every right to worry about our son and his friend! Why couldn't you leave this mess to Trent and Marshal Pomeroy? I'll tell you why! It's so you can wear that badge again! Don't try to deny it! I know you too well! A part of you misses it even after five years."

Matt was saved from trying to think of something to say that might placate his feisty redheaded wife because the final boarding call came. Instead he pecked her on the cheek after he placed their youngest on the platform next to her mamma followed by another peck for each of his daughters and a quick hug of Adam. Despite the only strangers being the guards, Pomeroy, Phy and I admit, me, Matt Dillon was still reticent about public displays of affection. Nat, the last to board, also hurriedly and self-consciously embraced his mother and siblings. If the plan was to succeed we couldn't afford for the train to leave without all seven men.

Four of us, since Phy had no real connection to law enforcement, might not guarantee the guards played their part. It also wasn't the only thing that could go wrong with Matt's carefully laid out plan. For example if our train was delayed while the westbound train made exceptional time getting to St. Louis Jim Crawford would be unprotected as well as unaware of the danger he was in. If he was taken and held in an unknown spot by unidentified suspects for more than a couple of days, Matt would feel responsible and put the onerous task of explaining everything to Jim's parents on his own shoulders. One thing for certain, he'd never stop trying to locate and rescue the lad and neither would I.

I know you can't rely on lady luck to get the job done, but this time she was with us for the initial step. Our train pulled into Union Station, which opened last September, a half hour early. We scrambled over from our eastbound track to the track, carpetbags in hand, where we had to wait 75 minutes rather than the expected hour for the westbound train carrying Jim Crawford and Gil Clayborne. We greeted them as they stepped off, Gil to head for his hotel to grab a couple hours sleep before his first meeting and Jim to stretch his legs.

"Thank you for keeping me company for nearly half my trip, Mr. Clayborne. I'll pass along your regards when I see…" Jim stopped in mid-sentence as he spotted his friend and instead uttered in surprise, "Nat, what are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd keep you from getting lonely on the last leg of your trip. Dad had some legal stuff to take care of here so I rode out with him. He told Uncle Gil you'd be on the same train from Philadelphia. Dad, Trent, this is my friend Jim Crawford from school, Grandpa's intern. Jim, my dad Judge Matt Dillon and Pinkerton Agent Trent Wellington, who's returning to his Denver office."

After the greetings and introductions out of earshot of Phy, Pomeroy and the guards were complete Clayborne bid us farewell. Soon the train was continuing its westward journey. When we pulled out from the St. Louis station Nat was sitting with Jim directly across the aisle from the so-called prison guards, having told Jim to pretend they were a couple of strangers traveling in the same direction who happened to be the same age. Nat hoped Jim or anyone who accosted them failed to notice the gun belt he wore, its holster hidden by his travel coat. Of course his being armed was all part of the plan as was Ed Pomeroy, Joe Phy beside him, sitting facing the two fake guards. I'd taken a seat behind the boys while Matt chose the one in front of them so he could see my or Pomeroy's signal that an abduction of the two young men was about to take place.

Three men entered the car from the forward end as we approached the Kansas City, Missouri station, at about the same spot as last Monday. Nat saw them as well, but managed not to show his anxiety beyond a slight rise and fall back to his aisle seat. I bent down as if I'd dropped something. The ruse alerted Pomeroy but Matt didn't need my signal. Naturally he'd also spotted his son's quick shift of position. We braced ourselves for action.

"One of you boys looks a lot like someone wanted by the law," the toughest looking of three men dressed in blue police uniforms growled. "Let's see some identification."

"They've got mine," Nat said nodding at the two men dressed as prison guards across the aisle from him. "Uh, I reckon these guys want yours pal."

Jim, looking confused, did what his friend told him and handed over his own billfold from an inner pocket of his jacket. Both boys sat quietly while the policemen talked to the supposed guards, looked over Jim's credentials, counted his money and then asked about his employment. Claiming an apprenticeship in Dodge City didn't seem to impress them. Two of them hauled Jim to his feet and led him away. The third, aided by the two guards, did the same with a seemingly unresisting Nat.

"Price, Tyson, ain't yah been a bit lax with this one?" he queried as he held onto Nat's shirt collar. "He escaped once so why'd yah let him sit with the new pick?"

"We wasn't worried," Price replied. "He couldn't go nowhere on a movin' train. There'll be no problem now that three of us is takin' him to the wagon. He'll soon be back in irons and this time he'll make it all the way to prison. No point in unnecessarily scarin' law abidin' passengers."

"Reckon you're right 'bout gettin' him to the boss. He was none too happy when we left him at the dispatch center with the delay in gettin' this one back here. Quicker capture, punishment and bein' set to work sooner woulda pleased him more, but he reckoned from yer wire it couldn't be helped. Even so he wants this kid softened up extra before we send him to his new home to make up for it."


	8. Chapter 8 Phase 6 The Raid

Chapter 8 – Phase 6: The Raid

AN: Historically the area I described was a major coal mining center that was in competition with a similar mining area in CO which at the time this was set supplied just about all the coal between Denver and Dodge with the MO mines supplying coal for the area between Dodge and St. Louis.

Thanks to the guest who left the long review. I wish I could comment further on your insights.

Five hardnosed blackguards left the railcar with their captives. Only four of the men who set out the previous morning from Dodge City remained until the train came to a complete halt. We each departed the car carrying at least one carpetbag, which we gave immediately to a porter Pomeroy seemed to favor with instructions to take them to Joe Phy's home until we knew where and for how long we'd be staying. Actually Matt and I placed several bags on the porter's cart in addition to our own. They belonged to Nat and Jim.

Phy bid us farewell and went off with the porter to seek his wife and the transportation to their home she'd secured. Pomeroy, Matt and I trailed after the two boys and their captors. That is, we followed until Nat and Jim were shoved into the back of a closed wagon, the two prison guards and two of the cops climbing in after. The third cop joined another officer, the driver, on the bench.

"We'd better find a ride quick!" Matt growled in frustration as the wagon pulled away at the fastest clip the station area traffic congestion allowed. "Explanations can wait!" the worried father exclaimed.

"Matt, take it easy," Pomeroy soothed as a carriage stopped, blocking our path. "After all these years you should know that like you I keep some things to myself and don't leave much to chance. I sent off wires too," he added as he pulled open the door. "Climb in. Time's a wastin'!"

Our carriage chased after the speeding wagon that had already cleared the clogged immediate vicinity of the station, never losing sight of it. By the time we halted in front of a warehouse two doors down from the wagon's destination Pomeroy had explained our carriage belonged to newly appointed Police Chief Lamblin Irwin and the porter was one of Irwin's most trusted men. More handpicked cops crammed the streets between the station and warehouse district along with a contingent of deputy marshals out of Independence Pomeroy could personally vouch for. It seems most of the men in the Kansas City Marshal's office, a considerable number in the Independence office and a near majority in local police precincts, particularly those closest to the warehouse district, weren't to be trusted.

Matt leapt out running seconds before we heard the shot. I can't say I blame him. If my son and his friend were where that shot came from, I'd have been as quick. That's not to say Pomeroy and I hesitated. A lot was at stake for us as well. Ed was in this mess since the mock trial in Dodge out of friendship and a desire to clean out possible corruption. My involvement, also both professional and personal, went back further. The driver, after securing the horse, followed. He signaled his hidden men to surround the warehouse that had become the center of our attention.

By the time we caught up to the tall former and now temporarily current US Marshal the sentry was out cold by the door. I stuck with Matt while Pomeroy and Irwin went around back. Yeah, it was the police chief who'd been our driver. The carriage was his personal transport. When Matt and I entered no other shots had yet been fired. Nat stood, gun in hand, eying the dead man lying at Jim's feet by the boss man's desk and a whole bunch of others hoping to mow him down if their boss gave the word.

"Hold it right there," Matt ordered drawing his own Peacemaker, aiming it at the man behind the large desk while I drew my revolver and Irwin and Pomeroy leveled their pistols at the occupants. "Toss your guns toward us unless you want to die along with your boss. Son, are you and Jim okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine now Pa," Nat replied as he strode over to stand next to his father, grabbing hold of Jim along the way. "I'm not sure what would've happened if you hadn't got here."

"Want to tell me what did happen?" Matt asked knowing how upset both boys were from Jim's slight tremor and Nat reverting to calling him Pa like the boy in some ways he still was.

"I'm not sure I understand any of it Mr. Dillon," Jim began. "Nat and I were talkin' while I watched the scenery when suddenly we were hauled off the train, thrown in a wagon with three other guys around our age and brought here. That man by the desk seems to have somethin' against Nat. He threatened him and ordered the two men sitting across the aisle from us on the train and that new one that boarded when we slowed down to carry it out. Nat lashed out at those holding him. Then one of the men with me let go. There was a loud bang and, Jim said pointing, "he was lying at my feet. Is he dead?"

"Yeah," Matt said glancing at his son's face and the Colt in his hand. Nat's bullet killed him."

"Pa, Dad, I reckon I'd better explain. We didn't resist until the last threat. I wasn't gonna let them strip me and tie me to a whipping post before sending us off to wherever 'cause I'd managed to get away once. When those on either side eased their hold I flung both elbows out into their ribs, sweeping my coat behind my holster at the same time. Continuing the movement I knocked the wind out of the guy behind me. I was ready when the scumbag next to Jim pulled iron and just enough faster to kill him before he fired. As much as I hated to do it, it was him or me."

"The boy's lying!" the well-fed, well-groomed man with graying hair despite being about five years younger than Matt bellowed the way someone used to getting his way does when thwarted. "He's a recaptured prisoner turned killer. It's only natural he be punished before being sent to hard labor. The dead man, a marksman I've put to good use, had every right to shoot to subdue him and make his punishment that much more painful. I'll dock the pay of the foolish guards I sent to retrieve him for being lax. Meanwhile, these four new prisoners need to learn what's in store if they get out of line."

"Touching story," Matt replied sarcastically, making sure no honest lawmen dropped their guard. "Too bad it's not true. Cooperate before I lose my temper. Where's this prison? Better yet, take us there."

"You talk mighty big, but standing tall carries no weight around here. The fact your name's Dillon like your tall, lanky, obviously strong troublemaker of a son and you brought along a bunch of ruffians means nothing to me, so what makes you think I'll do your bidding? Your boy's sentence is now officially life rather than ten years, although often a life sentence turns out to be shorter. Life is defined as until a prisoner's no longer of use. He's useful for now, so he remains alive."

Matt dropped the polite façade. Two long-legged strides brought the irate father directly behind the odious man, a powerful right arm under his chin pulling him to his feet. Despite remaining vigilant in the split second this occurred, I missed Matt transferring his pistol to his left hand so he could maintain his chokehold and press the barrel into the autocrat's side. That's when Ed Pomeroy spoke up.

"Matt, ease off. I understand, but don't force me to arrest you for murder. In answer to your question you blowhard, the man holding you is Federal Judge and temporarily unretired United States Marshal Matthew Dillon," Pomeroy continued as Matt brought his anger under control as befit the oath that goes with the badge he again wore. "If you're wonderin', I'm US Marshal Edwin Pomeroy, number two man in the St. Louis Regional Office that supervises all of Kansas and Missouri and you are?"

"Thomas Coleson, Director of the LCM Mine and its Prisoner Processing Center and warden over the prisoners assigned to dig out the coal at the mine's location along the Missouri River halfway between Independence and Lexington in Lafayette County," he sputtered as Matt alternately increased and eased the pressure on his throat. "I've every right to the prisoners," he added with more bravado than expected given his current predicament.

"Too bad there's no prison at that mine you own in any official records and I'd bet, like we established for Nat Dillon, the other four boys in this room have never been tried or convicted of a crime in Missouri or anywhere else. All your men are under arrest for at the very least false imprisonment. Chief Irwin is at this moment rounding up all involved police officers in Kansas City, starting with the closest precinct's captain. They'll await their trial in the cells at police headquarters. My trusted deputies from Independence will jail the corrupt deputies here and in Independence. What do you want done with Coleson, Matt?"

"He can help free the slave labor working his mine. Jailing him can wait."

Chief Irwin called in his men who set about cuffing all the policemen assigned to the warehouse district and vicinity seemingly employed by Coleson before leading them into three waiting police wagons. Pomeroy, Nat and I cuffed those who'd brought Nat, Jim and the other three boys to the so-called processing center from the station, placing them back in the wagon they'd come in to be driven to Independence. I didn't know how they planned to deal with additional corrupt officials in Kansas City, Independence and Lexington. I was focused on the upcoming raid of the LCM Mine. My hope was Warren Otterbein would still be alive for me to return to his parents' home.

"You five boys can ride in my carriage," Chief Irwin offered as everyone prepared to leave. "I'm sorry to say you're special witnesses under protective custody but after what you've been through my home would be preferable to a boardinghouse until after the trial, when you can be sent to your homes."

"Mr. Irwin, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to see this thing through with my dad. I'm not exactly a greenhorn at this sort of thing. Besides, I've been deputized."

Jim protested when Matt confirmed what Nat said. He didn't want to be left out, but finally caved into pressure that there were other ways for him to contribute. He agreed to help the other boys understand why they had to stay hidden until called to the witness stand.


	9. Chapter 9 Phase 7 The Final Step

Chapter 9 - Phase 7: Final Step of Matt's Plan

It was now four in the afternoon on Tuesday. We took the one remaining prison wagon from behind the now shuttered warehouse. Matt drove because he didn't want to beat Coleson half to death before reaching our destination, 30 miles away. Nat, sworn in as a deputy by Lionel back in Dodge, sat beside him on the box while Ed Pomeroy and I rode inside with Coleson until Independence where the deputy in charge, Pomeroy's friend, Carl Hoffner, joined us with another closed wagon. Before we left Independence Pomeroy swore in five temporary deputies Hoffner recommended because they'd proven their mettle as posse members to help with the raid. Nat relinquished his seat on the box of our wagon to Hoffner to become Coleson's third guard while one of the new deputies took up the reins of the one that hid the rest of his cohorts inside.

Pomeroy and I had been through raids like the one planned for the LCM Coal Mine before, but we weren't sure how Nat would react until we saw the determination on his face. The young man, who turned 18 a couple weeks ago, though shaken by having to kill, wanted nothing more than for his father to be proud of the man he was becoming. He was ready to do whatever was necessary to permanently close the mine down as it currently operated. I'd wanted the same back when I was 16 and shot a man with my newly purchased six-gun, not in self defense like the boy, but to prevent my hero Matt Dillon, his father, from being killed.

The first glimpse of our goal was a stockade a half-mile ahead along the Missouri River, a guard tower on each corner and two on either side of the gate. This obviously wasn't one of the ordinary mines that helped the region prosper. Anyone coming across it would know it for what it was – a prison. In this case an illegal one built for unwary young travelers trapped into hard labor without pay or legal recourse. Before moving closer we took advantage of dusk turning to full dark for Coleson to switch places with Matt and for Hoffner to take over driving our wagon.

We pulled up to the gate knowing we were facing armed, ruthless men. Sure enough, we heard the telltale click of their rifles as they prepared to fire if we didn't provide the right answers.

"Identify yourselves," the lead guard sang out. "We'll shoot you for trespassers if you've no authorized business to conduct."

"Marlow, it's Warden Coleson," he sang out, with every intention to state the true situation had Hoffner not reminded him who was in charge by poking his pistol more firmly into the man's side. "I've got two batches of new workers from today's trains," he continued more quietly.

Marlow, in obedience to his boss, ordered the gate opened to admit our wagons. Hoffner and Coleson opened the back of the wagon that held me, Pomeroy, Nat and Matt. In the dark Nat and I were easily taken for conscripts. The deputy driving the other wagon, at a nod from Hoffner, released four more lawmen, three of them purportedly involuntary recruits. It's amazing how inadequate light allows you to think you're seeing what you're supposed to see while keeping you from noticing what you're not supposed to notice.

They didn't suspect a thing until it was too late. The six guards were easily subdued without resorting to the shotguns we nine marshals and one inquiry agent hid in the wagons. Sr. Deputy Marshal Carl Hoffner and one of his men kept watch while the rest of us sought out the 15 sleeping off duty guards tucked away in their bunkhouse nestled beside the disguised mine entrance. We let their boss Thomas Coleson roust them from their sleep to be herded with the aid of our shotguns inside the prison wagons with their six on duty comrades.

This was merely the first step in the final phase of Matt's plan. We still needed to free the unwillingly indentured miners and place the remaining guards in custody for transport by a special train from St. Louis to Kansas City. Hoffner and one of his men alertly stood at the freight siding for loading coal awaiting its arrival. Two more remained with the wagons while the rest of us set off to free the prisoners and get them safely aboard the train in separate cars from their onetime overseers. Taking the still useful Coleson with us through his office and into the mine we encouraged him to give our orders to the remaining guards.

When you mine for coal there's always the chance of injury or illness, especially if you're underfed and overworked. That was certainly the case in the LCM Mine. However, nobody was in the infirmary, the first room in the locked area beyond mine owner Coleson's complete with whipping post inner office, except the medic. Hack Slocum began practicing medicine without bothering to study with a reputable physician or attend any medical school classes and thus was the perfect quack for a coal mine that doubled as an illegal prison. It was preferable that those incarcerated within never saw the light of day again rather than return to health if it meant more than a couple days missed work. It was easier and more profitable to replace them. We took Slocum along as we went deeper inside.

The food hall, designed to hold 100 men at a time, was likewise empty. Slocum eagerly provided the reason. Meals, if you call weak gruel and a slab of stale bread washed down with a cup of water a meal, were served at 6:45 AM and 7:15 PM for the day shift and 6:45 PM and 7:15 AM for the night shift. Prisoners coming off their shift were assigned to prepare the meal for the oncoming shift and clean up afterwards if they weren't assigned to laundry or general cleanup duty for four of their off-shift hours. Another 15 minutes was allotted each day for a guard to shave their faces and heads. When you added the twice daily, 15-minute inspections and the monthly 15-minute bath a prisoner had no more than six hours to sleep.

We got our first glimpse of the prisoners in the kitchen. Dressed only in baggy pants held up by a rope belt, the scrawny yet muscular boys stood chained to their stations by an extra pair of leg irons in addition to special handcuffs that allowed them to separate their hands by a foot, enough for them to perform their assigned tasks. The guard ignored our group of ten until Coleson spoke.

"Slocum and I are taking these men on a tour of the mine. They've worked out a scheme with the railroad that will bring our recruits here faster, but wanted to see our method of profitable coal production firsthand."

"The tour's a formality," Matt informed the guard. "Trent and Ed here," he said pointing to me, then Pomeroy, "arranged it so we take over the running of this mine tonight. More of my men will come through shortly. Until then hand over all your disciplinary tools. Those workers know to behave until my men arrive to relieve you or they'll face the consequences."

We moved on to the prisoners' sleeping quarters. Coleson nodded for the two dormitory guards to obey Matt's orders before we left them and the obviously exhausted prisoners assigned to each. I noticed the empty, except for two prisoners on their hands and knees washing the floors, sleep area was divided into two locked, damp unheated rooms with five rows of five bare narrow cots in each. Chains with rings on the ends dangled on either side at the head and foot. One ring on each was welded to the iron bedframe. The other end awaited a wrist or ankle.

"Mister," Nat asked the dormitory guard closest to him before we continued farther into the prison to the main work stations, "wouldn't the other prisoners attempt to overpower you before you could secure even one to his cot?"

"That could never happen. They're marched here in a group by the man supervising their non-mining assignment just as they're marched in a group by the guards from their work detail in the mine. They know they'll receive a lash or ten from the whips by the door, a blow or two to the head or a painful bullet wound that'll still allow them to work followed by reduction in sleep time and the whippin' post if they don't obey all the rules and orders or fall behind in their work."

Like with the kitchen and dormitory we left the laundry and hallway guards and their prisoners to await the arrival of the marshals on the train for further instructions while taking their pistols, truncheons and whips. It seemed the best we could do since we could only spare one man to make the rounds of those areas until reinforcements arrived. Even so, it left our forces thin, especially with Coleson and Slocum tagging along. The mine owner, who doubled as a warden, just might think he had a chance with only eight of us to regain the upper hand when we reached the seams of coal. We'd be deep underground, beneath the riverbed, with an unknown number of armed guards. Despite that, Pomeroy chose to send four deputies to aid the two already waiting by the loading area.

During our trek through the increasingly moisture filled air and ever wetter ground the medic Slocum, under the impression his cooperation was fulfilling his boss' wishes, related the efficient routine that had been perfected in the two years the mine had been operating using captured slaves. He'd seen the results in his infirmary. Coleson believed a thorough understanding of how things were organized explained to Slocum why his lack of genuine medical knowledge was beneficial even he felt privileged to be able to work at his trade.

"Eight groups of five are chained in place under the watchful eye of a guard armed with a whip, pistol and truncheon," Slocum explained. "It's a simple matter to secure each man to his place without danger of an uprising," he continued. "At the first station 19 guards hold the bulk of the workers at bay while the 20th chains a lone prisoner to his assigned station for the shift - drilling holes for blasting, obtaining the coal with a pickaxe, loading it on a tram or while chained to the tram hauling it to the waiting train. One guard stays with the prisoners at each station, leaving eight to help deal with the final group and escorting prisoners from the immediate area. When, under close supervision, these workers leave for calls of nature, prisoners from the last group of ten on the shift under the watchful eye of these eight plus nine more guards place the dynamite and a tenth guard lights the fuse. Prisoners ain't allowed matches or to be without leg irons and handcuffs except durin' the weekly change of pants and monthly bath. At all times ten guards remain by the loading docks."

He completed his recital of who did what when with how prisoners chained to the trams unhitched the full buckets so two per tram from the group of ten could carry them up the ladders on the sides of the five coal cars for dumping by the time we reached the first group mining coal. Matt indicated Coleson should again give his speech.

"Men, these four are out to destroy us!" he yelled his voice echoing down the passages. "Take them!"

Even though Matt grabbed Coleson before he could say more and Pomeroy took hold of Slocum the four nearest guards surrounded the four of us. It wouldn't have mattered if the other four lawmen were still with us more guards were on their way. The chained prisoners couldn't help. Our only hope was the reinforcements on the train from St. Louis.


	10. Chapter 10 Tables Turned

Chapter 10 – Tables Turned

Coleson didn't bother to struggle in Matt's grasp. He felt there was no need. Instead he barked orders.

"Don't kill them if you can avoid it. Even the oldest looks like there's at least six months worth of work in him," Coleson declaimed as the remaining guards approached.

We'd failed. Even if we survived, my career was over and so was my marriage to Amanda. I had no idea about Pomeroy or any of the other marshals but as much as Miss Kitty loves Matt even she would find it hard to forgive him for taking such a big chance with the life of their oldest child. At least Jim and the other two boys were safe at Chief Irwin's home until they left for their destinations. Maybe they'd get where they were going if they stayed off the train until they were well out of this part of western Missouri, but Coleson had sent those two men after Nat all the way to his home in Dodge.

Those were the bleak thoughts running through my mind as we were surrounded, disarmed and held at gunpoint to be marched toward what Coleson gleefully called the punishment room and cells, which must be in addition to the whipping post in his inner office and buried deep within the mine. Yet another flaw in Matt's plan was revealed in that man's smirk. We hadn't planned on him waiting until he'd almost lost everything to call his obviously loyal men to his defense.

Maybe I hadn't thought of the possibility of failure, but Matt had already set a contingency plan in motion. Mr. Clayborne and Lionel, the current US Marshal for Kansas headquartered in Dodge City, and Derrick Walker, his Denver District Attorney father, would have to lead the fight to free those unlawfully taken and expose those responsible before any new captive died. Needless to say Matt had already told Gil Clayborne to inform Jim's parents for what was sure to hit all the major papers thanks to the arrests we'd managed if he couldn't get off an immediate telegram. Once he was eventually released Matt would take it upon himself to explain what he'd done and why to Jim Crawford's parents Doug and Harriet and sister Emma. He'd do it in person and hope they wouldn't reject Nat because of his father's mistakes. Then, as the cliché goes, the cavalry arrived in the nick of time.

"I do believe Pomeroy, Dillon that you two haven't quite finished the job," Sr. US Marshal Paxton remarked as he spotted our group and recognized the two men. "You arranged transport for some of the gang to Kansas City, but you left most of them and all the witnesses being held here behind."

"Sorry, Glen," Ed Pomeroy replied. "We ran into a little snag, but with your help it'll soon be put right."

"Ed's right. We couldn't leave you completely out of it," Matt added as he grabbed hold of Coleson again, Nat took charge of Slocum and Pomeroy and I tackled our remaining would be captors.

Now that we had the medic, two guards and their boss under control, it was a simple matter for Paxton's reinforcements to make sure they couldn't turn the tables again. His posse totaled 20, but the ten, including himself, who'd penetrated this far into the LCM Mine, were more than enough to complete our task. Although this was still Matt's plan, as the senior man in rank and with jurisdiction over not only Kansas but also Missouri, Paxton was technically in charge.

"The 21 stowed in the prison wagons at the beginning of this mission are already on their way to Kansas City's most secure jail cells along with the ones you left along the way Matt. The irons on their few captives were removed and those men are waiting to ride the train back. We've already freed the prisoners by the siding and taken their keepers into custody under the watchful eye of half my men. Matt, the final step's yours. Lead the way."

Judge and temporarily unretired US Marshal Matt Dillon began with securing Thomas Coleson while Nat dealt with the more belligerent of the two guards and Pomeroy took care of the other. That left me with Slocum until all of them were formally charged. Meanwhile Paxton yielded to seniority in years if not in rank. Matt spoke to Coleson so everyone could hear.

"When you went after my son, you picked on the wrong man. A Dillon knows there's no place within the law for greed and exploitation. Like me he'll fight it until his dying breath."

With that declaration father and son backhanded the two men before throwing the shackles at them to put on. Everyone involved in making the arrests and freeing their captives who knew Matt Dillon either personally or by reputation smiled as they continued securing their prisoners with the very restraints that had held their victims.

It took some time to unshackle the 50 slaves held in the working part of the mine, but the 30 guards with them didn't put up much of a fight. They reluctantly handed us the keys then stood quietly with their previously arrested fellows. All of them, Slocum and Coleson included, submitted to the restraints we'd removed from the men they'd shanghaied. It was a sullen bunch that put on the shackles of those who'd so recently been their prisoners to board the train.

Removing the shackles from the former prisoners and walking to the waiting train gave me a chance to scrutinize the faces of the men and half grown boys who'd been forced to mine Coleson's coal. I compared each of them to the mental image I formed from the description Warren's parents, Collin and Emily Otterbein provided. If a lad seemed a possible match, I asked him a few questions. I finally got the right answers from an emaciated, pallid but otherwise seemingly healthy lad of at most 20.

"Yeah, I got taken six months ago on my way home to Chicago. I'm 19 and my name's Warren Otterbein," he replied to my inquiries.

"I'll wire your folks as soon as we reach Kansas City. However, until you testify against those who took and held you against your will, you'll have to remain in the housing the legitimate authorities provide for you. I'll do everything in my power and within the power of the Pinkerton Agency to make sure that time's kept to a minimum."

We cleared out the mine Tuesday night. By Thursday morning a federal attorney had interviewed more than half of the more than 100 prosecution witnesses. If he worked long hours he'd be ready for trial Monday. For their part the defense, led by Coleson's personal lawyer, figured a quickly scheduled trial worked to their advantage. Alas, not knowing how long the trial would last Matt and I sent vaguely worded wires in the wee hours of Wednesday morning to Dodge, Princeton, Philadelphia, Chicago and Denver while accommodations were secured for everyone involved in prosecuting the upcoming trial. Matt and Nat joined Jim at Chief Irwin's house. Hoffner welcomed my client's son Warren, Pomeroy, Paxton and I into his Independence home.

Thomas Coleson and those he hired weren't the only ones looking at a spell in Leavenworth. The entire precinct in the warehouse district with the exception of those called as prosecution witnesses, several high ranking city officials including the deputy mayor, all the Deputy US Marshals assigned to the Kansas City office and all but Hoffner and his five hand-picked men from the Independence office were tied to some extent to the scandal.

Now all we had to do was wait for our part in the trial. We were lucky. Our turns came starting Monday morning May 27th at the very beginning of the prosecution case. It was out of consideration for Matt needing to get home to his family, any pending cases awaiting him as a judge and Jim to his internship with Doc. In my case it was so I could escort the now free Warren Otterbein to Chicago before heading west to my home in Denver where I knew other cases and my wife awaited my attention. Hence, Pomeroy, who'd been in on most of it, was the main witness despite the plan being Matt's so there was no necessity to wait for the inevitable convictions and sentencing. Of course we bid farewell to Joe Phy, who was happy to provide what testimony he could.

A week later I stopped off in Dodge on my way home to Denver. The entire Dillon clan, including Albert and Sharon Goode, Festus and Doc, Doc's new intern Jim Crawford, and that transplanted Denver couple Lionel and Eileen Walker, greeted me as I stepped off the train. I certainly hadn't expected that. I reckon I've got a home in Dodge as well as my childhood home in Chicago. At the Dillon ranch we celebrated our successful destruction of a conspiracy that had directly and indirectly ruined so many lives.

LCM Mine was under new, honest ownership that had to compete fairly with nearby mines and the mines in Colorado, which incidentally supply all the coal in Dodge. As to those brought to justice the convictions ran the gamut of possible charges. They ranged along the entire scale from the most serious, kidnapping and armed robbery, to the least serious, impersonating an officer of the law and practicing medicine without a license, with numerous intermediate felony convictions. Alas, Thomas Coleson and his underlings weren't convicted of murder due to lack of direct evidence. It seems fitting they won't see the light of day outside the Leavenworth exercise yard for at least 20 years, most of it at hard labor.


End file.
